Kill Your Night Mares
by AshestoLight
Summary: Albel battles monsters born of his own mind. AlbelxFayt. Chapter 4: Cliff gets his violence on. Sort of.
1. Chapter 1: Perchance to Dream

**Night Mares**

**Chapter One: Perchance to Dream**

_I'm dreaming._

And yet he was aware. Albel took a step in the blackness. Lucid dreaming they called it, when you dreamed yet knew you were dreaming. He could not recall ever experiencing such before. His dreams were usually consuming, like living horrors, so real they left an ache in his bones upon waking.

How fitting that his subconscious was a stretch of black nothingness.

He took another step and cast about in the emptiness for some spark of light or color. His body, it held no heat, but rather felt soaked with the same stale chill that choked the air in this place. Experimentally he stamped a foot upon the ground plane and though he felt the impact of a solid floor, it nevertheless made no sound nor existed in any visual sense. He could see only himself and the Crimson Scourge, throbbing in his hand like a living heart.

_"Thus shall you be tested."_

That voice. He aimed a narrow-eyed glare down at the sword. Only once before had the Scourge spoken to him, but he still remembered that immortal voice, echoing into the abyss of infinity, dragging out raw memories from his mind.

"Is this your doing then?"

_"Think you that I would suffer your touch unchallenged all your life long? Think you that one trial has earned you that right? Presumptuous."_

Albel only scoffed. He had little patience for the katana's posturing. Oh, he'd endured it back then, counted it a necessary test. He had nothing to prove, not anymore. "Whatever it is, get on with it."

_"Should you wish to keep me in hand, you must grow ever stronger. You must never stop challenging your own weaknesses. Find them. Draw them out of yourself. Kill them."_

A pale shape wavered in the blackness.

_"Your night mares shall come hence to test you."_

It was ghostly white and ugly as sin, so bony that skin was but a formality. Though it was more or less horse-shaped, it's eyes were human eyes set into the sides of its gaunt head, giving it an unnatural and deformed look. Wait...not just any human's eyes. A closer look sent Albel a jolt of familiarity. The thing had _his_ eyes. That was...disconcerting. But not enough to make him drop his guard. The mare lifted its upper lip in what was surely a sneer and Albel caught the glint of sharp canines, a predator's teeth. It tossed its head and pranced around him in a jerky dance, ears laid back, fangs bared, and he turned with it, sword at the ready.

"Hmph," he said. "This is it? This is the best you can do? Some imaginary monster? Pitiful. I'm of a mind to feel insulted." As if he hadn't faced worse right outside his home in the untamed mountains of Airyglyph. As if Luther's formidable creations hadn't put this thing to absolute shame.

With a shriek like a banshee, the pathetic creature lunged at him, but it was far too slow. All it took was a quick sidestep and a slice across its thin throat and down it went, collapsing dead at his feet as all of Albel the Wicked's enemies eventually did.

How weak. Almost a disappointment. He'd gotten his blood up for nothing. Albel nudged the thing with his foot. It didn't even look like much. Just a pile of bleached bones and skin. "It seems I've cut short your fun," he said to the katana. "Enough of this. You're wasting my sleep."

The Scourge only laughed, a sound that set gooseflesh rippling across Albel's skin. "_How naïve of you to think you can use me to kill my own invocations. Be you now enlightened. Awaken and see your fine work."_

Albel was forced awake and his eyes were forced open. He stood beside Fayt's bed in the inn room they shared, dark save for the pale moonlight bouncing off the snow outside and spilling through the window in a glory of silver.

And Fayt lay lifeless in the bed with his throat open.

_I…_

He felt himself unraveling. The slice through Fayt's throat was so deep it had almost cleaved his head off. Thick, hot blood pooled around his shoulders and dripped from the Scourge, and Fayt's eyes—vibrant green even in the dim light—had snapped open and now stared empty, soulless. That familiar, hollow stare that Albel had seen in corpse after corpse in his bloodier days. It had never shaken him before. Fayt.

_No, I…_

Just as he felt his mind about to shatter like thin glass there came the insane feeling of his psyche unfolding, the feeling of _waking up again_, of opening _another_ set of eyes, and between one blink and the next, reality...changed.

He did stand beside Fayt's bed with the Crimson Scourge naked in his hand, but Fayt was live and whole and sleeping in peace. Oblivious. And so, so vulnerable. Albel's eyes cinched shut. He took a deep breath and opened them again, but the scene remained unchanged this time.

_The little fool sleeps too heavy_, Albel thought, numb with shock. _The sound of the katana sliding from its sheath should have woken him_. Albel would have to make a point of interrupting the boy's sleep in unpleasant ways from now on until he learned to slumber more softly. For his own good, naturally.

"What was that all about?" he asked the katana, hissing the words in a whisper, snapping himself back to reality and gripping the hilt so hard it seemed it should crack in his hand. He could not tear his eyes from Fayt. It had been so complete, the illusion. The sound of dripping blood in his ears, the smell of slaughter, the metallic taste of it in the air. Fayt, gone. And Albel...on the verge of something. Right on the edge of shedding composure and falling into a place he never wanted to go again. A place of need. Need for another person. Oh gods above. He thought he'd pushed himself beyond that.

_"This is the beginning__,"_ came the response. Albel grinded his teeth at the eternal, mocking voice in his head. _"__Kill your night mares, or they will kill you."_

Laughter like steel daggers cut into Albel's mind and he found the cursed katana's sheath and slammed it home before dropping it to the floor in a clatter of noise. Fayt stirred, but _still_ didn't wake up. Fool! Incompetent, careless fool! Sleeping heavy like that could get him…killed.

Legs shaking, Albel leaned on Fayt's bed and raked his eyes over the boy's body. Shirt hiked up to his chest, sheets tangled about his knees, the muscles of his exposed stomach etched in moonlight.

Breathing in, out. Alive.

Funny. There had been a time when he would have counted Fayt's death exquisite to behold. When his fancies lingered on the slide of steel through flesh. When life was the price and death the reward.

His fancies lingered on other things these days. When had that happened?

Albel slid a knee up and climbed onto the bed. _What i__f I'm still not really awake?_ To test it, he reached out and ran his flesh fingers through Fayt's blueberry hair, finding him warm and real. After the unthawed nothingness that clung to him in the vision dream, the texture of Fayt's hair triggered a visceral pleasure in him. Real. This was real. Strands flowed through his fingers then fell—blue on ivory, lovely—into stillness against Fayt's moon-kissed skin.

"Mmuh…Albel?" Bleary eyes blinked up at him.

_Now he wakes up._ Albel snatched his hand away, climbing down and stalking over to his own bed. "Nothing, fool! Go back to sleep and stop bothering me."

"But…" His sleep-muddled confusion might have struck Albel as endearing if his mind weren't still recoiling at what he'd thought he'd done. "You're the one who…mm…" Fayt closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into the blankets, drifting already.

The cool linen sheets settled over Albel's skin, comfortable but not comforting. He stared through the shadows and darkness at the smudge of blue that was Fayt's hair and fed his fury at the Scourge. How dare that chunk of metal presume to toy with his mind! And after all that it made him admit to in Airyglyph's treasure vault. Bloody, cursed thing. If it weren't the best sword he'd ever had the privilege of wielding he'd have tossed it into an icy crevice long ago. But whatever ridiculous game the katana was playing at, he'd have to worry about it tomorrow after they reached the castle. The big blonde idiot had sent them a message weeks ago asking them to make their way there in time for the Winter Solstice.

Now, at journey's end, just when he found himself actually looking forward to taking his ease in the city, this new aggravation reared its head.

_It won't get me again with one of those mares. I'll be ready for it next time, and I'll throw its absurd test back in its face._

Though he lay there with Fayt's breathing to lull him, it wasn't until the sky began to lighten that Albel could sleep again. The last thing he heard was the katana's words tumbling over and over again in his head.

_"This is the beginning. Kill your night mares, or they will kill you."_

**AN:**** So here I go on my first multi-chapter fic. Hope it pleases! Do let me know what you think. (:**


	2. Chapter 2: What Is Mortal And Unsure

**Chapter Two: What Is Mortal And Unsure**

_Albel seems…moody today_, Fayt thought, glancing at his traveling companion. They trudged through the snowy Traum Mountains, Kirlsa at their backs and Airyglyph still a couple hours away, and so far Albel had spent the entire time scowling at nothing in particular and for no apparent reason.

"You don't seem like you slept well last night," Fayt said.

"I slept just fine. Not that it's any of your business, fool."

"Really? You're awfully grumpy today." Fayt grinned. Usually when Albel was in a pissy mood he could bring him out of it by bothering him a little. "You're usually such a ray of sunshine." It wasn't just Albel's attitude that said he hadn't slept wellt; his eyes looked tired and there was an almost imperceptible slouch to his shoulders. "Did you have nightmares again?"

Albel said nothing, but the way his eyes narrowed told Fayt that he was in dangerous territory. Nothing new, that. No matter how often Fayt gave him the opportunity, Albel never spoke of his bad dreams.

As they trudged onward through the snow, Fayt's mind wandered and he thought of his own odd dreams last night. He'd dreamt that Albel had woken him in the middle of the night, stroking his hair, and even in the dream he'd been confused and a little embarrassed to catch Albel in such a rare gentle moment. Those moments were few and not to be seen by anyone. But in the dream Albel leaned over him and pressed him into the pillow with a deep kiss. Even thinking about it brought a flush to his face, and the whole thing made him feel silly, like a schoolboy with a crush, but it was okay to feel silly every now and then. If he started taking himself too seriously he'd turn into Albel.

Albel…with his dangerous, slinky grace and that pale stretch of bare thigh exposed by the slit in his skirt…

A metal gauntlet cuffed him upside the head and almost knocked him down into the snow. "Ow!"

"You're daydreaming, fool. Keep your head. Anything could be out here." He gestured at the heavy trees and great tumbles of rock all around them.

Rubbing his head, Fayt said, "We're in _Airyglyph_. We're two hour's walk away from the city. I can even see the city walls in the distance! We've seen at least three Dragon Brigade scouts fly overhead. What threat could you possibly expect out here?"

The barest smirk tugged at Albel's lips. "You haven't noticed, then."

Some of Fayt's mirth faded away. They were being followed and he hadn't caught it? _I guess I really was daydreaming too much._ "How many—"

Laser shots fired out of the trees ahead and hit the ground a few feet in front of them, scattering up clouds of snow. Albel shoved Fayt behind him and had his sword already drawn. Before Fayt could step forward to help, someone grabbed him from behind, wrapping an arm around his neck and another around his waist.

He kicked and thrashed and tried to bite the arm around his neck until a very familiar chuckle sounded near his ear. "Relax, kid."

"Cliff!"

The cloud of snow before them settled to reveal Maria striding toward them, Peppita prancing along behind her. Maria's mouth quirked up in a smile and she leveled her gun first at Albel's head then at Fayt's and mimed pulling the trigger. "Dead and dead," she said. "We win."

Albel still had not sheathed his sword nor relaxed his stance. "Ranged weapons are for cowards." He frowned over his shoulder at Cliff, who still held Fayt loosely clasped against him.

"A gun will kill as well as a sword," Maria said, holstering her weapon.

Albel shot right back. "It works well enough for a wench I suppose."

Geez, things were getting ugly already and they hadn't been together more than half a minute. Albel really _was_ grumpy today. A change of subject was in order. "What are you guys doing out here?" Fayt asked.

"Peppita couldn't wait so we decided to meet you," Cliff said. "Maria thought we should surprise you." He shrugged. "Her idea of fun, I guess."

"Just wanted to see if you two are as sharp as you always were," Maria said, and as usual Fayt couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

Peppita had been bouncing on her toes the whole time and after Cliff finally released Fayt, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. "I missed you _so_ much, Fayt!" She was taller, he noticed, quite a bit taller, and not as stick thin as she had been. A year had gone by and she was now dancing close to the line between girl and young woman.

Albel had just sheathed his sword when Peppita whirled and hugged him around the middle. "I missed you, too, Alby!"

_Alby?_

Albel's eyes grew comically wide. Fayt could hear Cliff dying of laughter somewhere behind him, which was so not a good way to help the situation. With Peppita still latched around his waist, Albel glared at Fayt. "Get. It. Off."

It wasn't that Fayt feared for Peppita's safety as much as for Albel having an aneurysm from the pent up indignation. "Err…come away from the sociopath with the sharp claws, Peppita." To her credit, she danced away without argument.

Still snickering, Cliff came up and slung an arm around Fayt's shoulders. "Ah, good times. Right, Alby?"

"Say that again, maggot."

"I sure missed those cute little pet names of yours."

"All right," Maria said, stepping up between them. "We'd better get going. We've still got quite a walk ahead of us, and it's freezing out here."

Albel and Cliff glared at each other a few seconds more—Albel's eyes hooded and disdainful, Cliff's mischievous and challenging—before they turned away and started trudging on again. Fayt sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair before following. This was not a good start to their big reunion, and he'd forgotten how much energy it took to keep Albel and Cliff from each others' throats. Their clashing was an inevitability of physics. Albel thought himself the immovable object, Cliff thought himself the irresistible force. What it always amounted to was one big headache for Fayt.

They labored on through the snow in silence for a time. Peppita grabbed Albel's index finger and walked with him like that, swinging their arms back and forth as they went, but even she must have picked up the tension because every time she drew in a breath and opened her mouth to say something she snapped it back shut again.

_I need to invest in some low maintenance friends for a change_, Fayt thought. _Ah, but they're all worth it, I guess._ When he couldn't take the moody silence any longer, he piped up as cheerily as he could and asked after Sophia.

"She's waiting back at Airyglyph with Mirage and Nel," Maria said, and it was good to see a genuine smile on her face at last. "Sophia's pretty excited about the Solstice celebration. Did Albel tell you about it?"

"No," Fayt said. "What about it?"

Peppita chimed in. "They give presents! It must be like Christmas!"

"Not presents," Albel said. His tone was a little lighter, not quite as soaked with resentment. "Just tokens. Small, inexpensive things. You leave them where your friends will find them. The idea is to guess who gave you what."

_Gifts_, Fayt thought. _If I know Sophia, she's already bought up half the Airyglyph market._ He'd have some shopping to do once he got to the city, and the thought made him smile. Spending the past year with Albel had felt so right. They'd wandered without destination, fighting and exploring and growing stronger, and it had seemed like time didn't pass at all while they traveled the lost roads of Gaitt. But it would be nice to take a breather, to do something as simple and normal as shop for gifts for his friends.

After that, the conversation flowed just fine, especially when Cliff and Peppita started up with their questions. They wanted to know where Fayt and Albel had been the last year, what had they seen, where did they go, did they get to go to Greeton, did they travel off planet at all, and did they have any contact with the Federation. Fayt fielded all the questions gladly, feeling the bitter tug of nostalgia. He hadn't even realized how much he missed them all until now.

Soon enough they found themselves crossing the great bridge and passing beneath Airyglyph's looming walls and tall buildings. They hadn't gotten two steps into the castle when Sophia's voice echoed through the vaulted space and Fayt saw her standing upon the stairwell, Nel and Mirage behind her. She raced down the stares and flung herself into Fayt's arms with a laugh. He spun her around and even after they broke the embrace he kept one arm around her waist. He clasped arms with Nel and Mirage gave him a gentle hug and they all stood before the great doors of the castle, laughing and talking and catching up.

Almost all of them. When they started to drift upstairs to find a sitting room, Fayt noticed Albel had slipped off somewhere. Well, Fayt wasn't about to leave everybody else to go chasing after him. For now, he just wanted to get lost in the silly banter and simple fun of it all. He'd spent the last year playing Albel's mind games and indulging his dysfunctions; it could wait just this once.

* * *

Albel couldn't get away from those idiots soon enough. The moment that silly bint Sophia started her happy crowing he snorted with contempt and left them all. Fayt didn't even notice him leaving, and for some reason that irritated him.

A quick word with a servant ensured that Fayt's room would be set up near Albel's, just in case he got playful and wanted to toy with his prey. Fayt wouldn't get reprieve just because they were back in Airyglyph. During their travels, Albel had discovered to his delight that Fayt blushed like the virgin he was over anything sexual, and Albel loved nothing so much as making the boy uncomfortable. A few obscene words at the right time or an unexpected touch in the right place provided fine entertainment. Still, he was in no rush to bed the boy; the fun was in the chase.

There were hours left yet in the day after he got to his room, but he wouldn't be leaving again, not when he might run into one of those inane fools. If he had to listen to any more of their tripe, he'd start nailing tongues to the floor.

The rest of the day went by with Albel sitting at his window with his chin propped on his flesh hand. His mind was still and he relished the quiet. Before long, snow began to drift down past the frosted panes. When the sky began to dim, he turned his thoughts to the night mares. They had been running through his mind all day, but now he gave them real consideration.

"I ought to melt you down for putting me through this nonsense," he murmured, but the Crimson Scourge refused to speak. How typically infuriating.

So he had to kill night mares, creatures of the mind rather than the physical world. Were they even real? And did it matter? They were real enough to cause harm, and they were sly enough to make him cause harm to others. The illusion he'd seen of Fayt dead by Albel's own hand had been a warning of things to come, he was sure.

Before the sun had set fully he wandered over to the bed. The thought of lying supine—such a helpless position—didn't appeal to him, so he sat beside the bed and leaned his head back against it. Across his knees lay the Hakuen, an inferior katana to the Scourge but weapon quality seemed of little consequence for this battle. He could not kill them with the Scourge so he would try a different weapon.

It didn't take long for him to begin to drift. The weariness he'd been fighting all day weighed down on him and he gave in, closing his eyes…surrendering to sleep…

In the space of a heartbeat he was in the same dead, black void as before, and he wondered if this was indeed what the interior of his mind looked like, so lightless and empty, but such foolish philosophy appalled him and he focused on the mares instead.

Three this time, and each one just as ugly as the last. Their ghost-white skin slid over protruding bones as they slunk and slid around him, skeletal legs prancing high.

A pang of apprehension shot through him as he stood there in the cold darkness, but he quelled it with vicious resolve. They _could_ be killed. There had to be a way. Yet the Hakuen felt so useless in his hand, so ineffective for the task.

Then they spoke, and the voice came from all and none of them at once. "Why such fear and hate for us?" they said, their voice fluttering over his skin like a phantom breeze, trying to unnerve him. "We bring you such a rare gift. Only through us may you face your deadliest foe. Is that not your desire?"

He sneered defiance at them. "I fear nothing, and I already know my strongest enemy. It is Fayt, and I have him well in hand."

One of them broke off from the others and stood before him, saliva trailing from its deformed mouth in a long thread. "No," it said. It's voice sounded like the crumbling of wet, dead leaves. "No one can wound you so deep as you wound yourself. _You_ are your greatest enemy."

The next thing he knew, his vision was filled with white light, with searing heat…

The hideous voice of the mares became warmer, richer, murmuring words he couldn't understand…

A voice calling his name…

He opened his eyes to a sunlit room and a gentlewoman bending over him, touching him on the shoulder. His mind felt heavy, his thoughts muddled. Why was he sitting with his back to the bed with a katana laid across his lap? Why could he not remember what he was doing here?

"Dozing?" the woman said. She was…so beautiful, and the maternal warmth in her voice washed over him like a cleansing wave. She was dressed in fine dark silks. "Wake yourself now, my boy. Your father's waiting for you."

He blinked up at her, uncomprehending, wishing his thoughts would get themselves in order. "What…who are you?"

She tilted her head to the side, smiled, and knelt beside him. "I think you're still half asleep, Albel. You don't recognize your mother?"

_Mother?_

"You haven't forgotten have you?" she said. "Your father will be in the training yard by now. He's going to pass on the Crimson Scourge to you, and officiate you into the Dragon Brigade. We'll go as soon as you make yourself ready. You remember now?"

"Yes, I…I remember. I was just having an odd dream. Very odd." He rubbed his eyes with his hand. With his left hand, he realized, and he frowned at it. He couldn't say way exactly, but it seemed odd to use his left hand in that way.

_What was I dreaming about?_ He couldn't recall, so he let his mother lead him out of his room and through the halls of the castle, still slightly confused. The servants and knights they passed all raised friendly hands to him, congratulated him, looked at him with _admiration_ of all things, and he scowled back at them. It didn't feel right, somehow. None of this felt right. He wrung his two flesh hands together as they walked, pondering.

At the entrance to the training yard, his mother stopped him with a gentle touch to his arm. "Are you well, Albel?" The genuine concern writ on her face almost broke him then, and he didn't even know why. "You're frowning at everyone and everything. This is supposed to be a joyous day. Tell me what troubles you."

"Nothing." He fixed his gaze on the stone floor. Looking at her was painful. A fragment of the dream came to him, lodging in his brain like a sharp shard of glass. "It's just…I dreamt that I failed the Accession of the Flame. I dreamt that father sacrificed himself to save me. There was nothing left for me but shame and despair. Nothing left."

Tears collected in his eyes, and behind the residual grief left by the dream he felt his suspicion spike. He was not the type to cry. When his father died he'd moved to a place beyond tears, a place where he was dead inside though his body kept on living.

_But father _isn't _dead. He's here. He's alive and waiting for you._ _It was only a nightmare…_

He felt as though he was overlooking something. Something critical. It hovered in the back of his mind, just beyond conscious grasp.

_(night)_

Fuck, what was it? It was right there, if he could only catch hold of it.

_(mares)_

He shook his head and growled in frustration, but when his mother gathered him in her arms he didn't protest. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to create a memory, to take in everything of this moment—his mother's light, flowery perfume, the color of her hair, the way she rubbed his back with one hand. Though she must have hugged him like this a hundred times before, he had a crushing dread that this would be the last.

"You were dead," he whispered.

"What?"

"In the dream, you were dead. I killed you. I killed you in the birthing bed."

She stroked his head, told him all was well, but it was with growing unease that he strode out into the training yard, blinded momentarily by the sun reflecting off the snow. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Glou Nox standing at the far side of the training yard, Dragon Brigade soldiers to either side of him and a great air dragon behind.

Albel's air dragon. The one with whom he had bonded in the Accession of the Flame.

_Wrong, wrong. This is all so wrong_, he thought, walking forward in a daze to stand before his father. The brilliant sunlight dazzled his eyes and made the whole scene bright and unreal.

His father beamed at him. "This is a proud day for me, son, as I know it must be for you. The Accession of the Flame is a dangerous rite, but I always knew you would succeed." For the first time, Albel noticed that his father held the sheathed Crimson Scourge in one hand. "This katana accepted me as its bearer after I formed the covenant with my own dragon, Albel. Now it shall do the same for you. You have proven yourself through our most arduous of rites." He held the Crimson Scourge up in both hands. "Come. Step forward and receive it."

Albel's dragon bobbed its head and radiated approval. Why could he not remember the dragon's name, nor the details of the Accession itself?

"Step forward?" Albel said. He eyed the ground before his feet, wary without knowing why. His senses told him all was as it should be, but his instincts—finely honed and never wrong—screamed a warning at him. He felt his mother come up behind him and place a hand on his back.

"Go on," she said. "One step forward."

The logical part of him argued rationality: _Nothing to indicate a threat. Be easy and accept the honor._

The instinctive, predatory part of him howled: _beware, beware, something is not right, don't trust them._

"Come, Albel," his father said. "This is destiny. This is fate."

The last word hit him like a physical blow.

_Fate…?_

_Fayt!_

It came to him in a rush, all of it. Everything. He opened his eyes, his mental and physical eyes, he woke up twice, his mind turned outward from itself. In an instant he went from bright sunlight to starlit night, from the training yard to the very top of the watchtower where he now stood upon the battlements, a sheer drop of over a hundred feet before him. The sudden shock of it and the buffeting wind threw his balance and he teetered. As he tipped, looming over the abyss, he let go the Hakuen and scrabbled at the icy stone. His fingers slipped, but his claws found purchase, clenched into the stone, and he strained every muscle in his body to keep from going over, to haul his weight up and over to safety.

Heart hammering, he sat back against the merlon and just breathed. Rage like a wildfire replaced shock and he punched the ground with his claw, cracking the stone. How dare they. How _dare_ those fucking things unearth his mother and use her memory against him.

_I made my peace with that a long time ago_, he thought, clenching and unclenching his metal hand. _They think they can break me just by resurrecting the wench that bore me? I did just fine without that woman._

But even he knew his own harsh thoughts were but a defense against the deep ache that pulsed in him every time he thought of her, every time he reminded himself that she would still be here if not for him. Just like his father.

Pulling himself up, he peered over the edge of the watchtower. Far below, a silver line of reflected moonlight revealed the blade of the Hakuen. _I'd be down there, too, if I'd taken that one step forward._ It wasn't the thought of dying that incensed him so much as being tricked into it.

He started down the stairs with no idea what he would do for the rest of the night. Not sleep, certainly. He'd train. A little swordplay would clear his head and help him forget how it had felt when his mother had held him, how his father had looked at him with pride in his eyes.

In one night, with one vision of the life he could have had, _should_ have had, the mares had done more to hurt him than all the bad dreams he'd ever had combined.

* * *

It was after midnight when Fayt finally detached himself from the others, and he didn't make it five steps down the corridor before his steps started swerving. This was the first and last time—the absolute _last_, by God—that he would let Cliff talk him into doing shots of tequila. The daiquiris though, those had gone down like candy.

Not feeling very well at all, he shuffled on with one hand against the wall for support. The little party they'd had had been fun, especially when Mirage had given him a friendly peck on the cheek, and he'd never live down _that_ blush, not with Cliff to tease him about it the rest of his life, but it hadn't felt complete without Albel there. And he wanted to see Albel get drunk. That must be a sight. Heh heh, drunk Albel, maybe with a lampshade on his head, the life of the party. Inebriated as he was, this struck him as The Funniest Thing Ever and he started giggling and couldn't stop for the life of him.

Wait…where was he going again? Great, now he'd gone and just wandered off to some random part of the castle. He was just giving serious thought to napping right there in the corridor when he caught sight of a purple skirt and two long ropes of hair disappearing around a corner.

So maybe the party wasn't over after all. Feeling delightfully, dangerously uninhibited and with some half-formed thoughts of finding out what Albel had been so concerned about the day before, he made his rather slow and unsteady way after the swordsman.

* * *

**AN: **K, I've got a chapter count this time. We're looking at ten chapters and an epilogue. Thanks for the reviews, yo.

Next chapter: drunk Fayt and sleep-deprived Albel. What could go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3: A Sea of Troubles

**Chapter 3: A Sea of Troubles**

He wasn't drunk, not in the truest sense. Not blackout drunk or falling down drunk certainly. He'd achieved that perfect threshold where the world takes on a vague haze of giddiness and unreality. If nothing else, Fayt was convinced he was being positively stealthy as he shadowed Albel through the halls. Even ninja-like.

Eventually, Albel came to the door to the training yard and here he stopped but he made no move to open it. He only stared at the door, metal claw resting on the hilt of his sword. His claws drummed lightly as he considered, and Fayt would have paid any amount of fol to know what thoughts were ambling through that pretty head. Then Albel continued on through the torch-lit halls, leaving the training yard behind and heading for the front door of the castle.

_Where's he going?_

Fayt followed Albel out of the castle and into the cold, clear night. No snow falling tonight, but there was plenty of it on the ground and the wind shrieked through the narrow streets and around the castle towers. It came in gusts, rattling Fayt's teeth with its chill bite one second and quieting the next. The sting of it cleared Fayt's head enough to allow in an intelligent thought: since when had he been able to sneak up on Albel? Never. Albel surely knew he was there even if he gave no indication of it. He veered off onto a side street and then through a heavy iron gate and Fayt followed.

Tombstones dusted with snow resolved themselves out of the darkness. Albel threaded through them in what looked like a familiar pattern and stopped before a pair of graves. Fayt was too far away to read the names on the headstones, but he could take an educated guess.

He felt suddenly embarrassed, catching Albel in a personal moment like this. _He really doesn't know I followed him, _Fayt thought_. I don't think he would have come here if he did._

Careful to be quiet, Fayt retreated back to the gate and wrestled with a moment of indecision. In the end, his guilt for following Albel couldn't overcome his concern or his curiosity and he made his way back through the cemetery, purposefully making noise this time. Albel turned in his direction with a sinister gleam in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sorry," Fayt said. He came to a hesitant halt, far enough away that he could retreat if Albel really didn't want him here. "I saw you leave and I just wondered where you were going."

It was too dark to read Albel's expression, but the Glyphian turned his back without a word. It felt like a dismissal.

"Do you…want me to go?"

No response. No sound at all save the wailing wind. It whipped Albel's hair tails about and made Fayt's eyes sting. The sound of it ate up the silence between them and Fayt edged away. He shouldn't be here in the first place.

"No, stay," Albel said. He spoke so softly Fayt barely heard him. "Talk. It'll keep me awake."

Coherent thoughts were having trouble taking root in Fayt's brain at the moment, but the significance of that statement snagged his attention just long enough to get itself filed away for later. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he came closer, close enough to lean forward and read the names on the headstones. Fortunately for his health, he wasn't quite plastered enough to comment on them. He was little drunk, not completely stupid. Not once had Albel mentioned his parents or the incident with the dragon, but it was common knowledge in Airyglyph and Fayt had heard about it second hand. Looking back over at Albel, he said, "Well…why don't you tell me more about the solstice. When is it?"

"Five days from now. It's the shortest day and longest night of the year."

Fayt hugged himself and rubbed his arms to warm them, shifting his feet to keep his blood going as the wind gusted. "We have a winter holiday on Earth called Christmas. At least it's a winter holiday in the Northern Hemisphere. It's a big deal, lots of decorations and good food and presents."

"That would never do in Airyglyph. We don't flaunt defiance in winter's face. She has a way of biting back. So we keep things understated out of respect for what she can do. The solstice is a bad luck night. Most people will spend it indoors with their families." Then, out of nowhere, Albel looked straight at him and said far too casually, "Do you know how to kill night mares?"

"Night…mares?" Fayt shook his head. Bad idea, it made him dizzy. The cold was getting to him, too, so he huddled closer to Albel and got a derisive sneer in response. "Next time we all get together, it'll be someplace warm," Fayt said. "Maybe Hyda IV. I'll bury you in the sand." He snickered. "And buy you polka dotted swim trunks." As soon as that image got into his head there was no stopping the giggles that followed. He clutched Albel's arm and bent nearly double trying to catch his breath as he pictured Albel frolicking in the surf. Frolicking!

Finally Albel fisted a hand in Fayt's shirt and hauled him back up. Fayt choked on his own laughter. Their faces were so close. If he only leaned in a little, they would be kissing. Then Albel shoved him away again and said, "I'm surprised Fittir would let you drink the way he worries over you."

All at once, Fayt toppled from his giddy high and fell into concern. "Albel…why aren't you sleeping? You didn't sleep last night either."

Albel shut down. He turned away and started to leave. Their rapport was broken, the wall was back up, but Fayt wasn't going to let it happen again. He grabbed Albel's arm. "I'm just trying to help, you know. Why do you do this? Why do you advertise to everyone that something's bothering you then refuse to talk about it? What, do you just like to see me worry?"

Albel was very still. If Fayt had been operating at full capacity, he might have realized it was the stillness of a snake about to strike.

"Or do you just like the attention? I don't get you. You think just because you've had it rough, it gives you a license to be a jackass to your friends. I'm sick of it. It wouldn't kill you to tell me things. That's what friends do, dummy."

When Albel struck it wasn't fast, but slow, almost a caress as he slid close and raised his claws to close around the cold, soft flesh of Fayt's throat. Those claws tightened, painful, but it was Albel's words that cut him.

"I am not your friend."

This delivered in an even voice and with such easy conviction that Fayt's heart dropped and whatever else he'd been about to say died right there. Albel shoved him and the backs of his knees hit Glou Nox's tombstone and he tumbled over it, ending up on his back in the snow with his legs in the air.

By the time he scrambled up, he was in an absolute huff and Albel was already nothing more than a dim, fading shape moving away in the night. "I don't know why I even bother with you!" Fayt called after him.

He stood there long enough to make sure he wouldn't run into Albel when he got back, shivering violently with the snow melting down the back of his shirt. He practically ran back to the castle. Not exactly clear-headed to begin with, and with his energy draining fast, he managed to get lost twice in the maze of dark hallways before finally stumbling upon his room. The moment he got in he collapsed face first on the bed and was asleep within the minute.

* * *

Fayt slept deep, and his dreams were nothing but fragmented nonsense that he wouldn't remember upon waking. Even when his internal clock began to chime and tell him he'd slept too many hours, still he drifted in a languor between sleep and consciousness. In this twilight of the mind, he felt or imagined he felt someone leaning on his bed and calling his name, imagined it was Albel, imagined he ought to take back what he'd said in the cemetery. He reached up and circled an arm around Albel's neck and pulled him down, not because he was feeling at all frisky but because he wanted to apologize and didn't want to sit up to do it. 

Then he noticed that whoever he had about the neck lacked Albel's long hair tails. It was short hair he felt. For the second time in as many days, he was surprised to hear Cliff's voice close to his ear. "Having a good dream are we?"

Fayt clawed the rest of the way out of his mild hangover-sleep and peeled his eyes open to see he'd managed to pull Cliff half way on top of him. His head felt stuffed with cotton and he just couldn't muster the energy to be embarrassed. A glance over Cliff's shoulder revealed sunlight shining around the edges of the heavy drapes, providing just enough light to see by. Cliff had left the door slightly ajar; from beyond it came the muffled sounds of a castle bustling with its daily business. "Ugh. Cliff, what are you doing here?"

"Getting molested, apparently."

"Do you have to talk so _loud_?"

Cliff smirked and rested his weight on his elbows, lowering his voice to a deep, pleasing rumble that vibrated against Fayt's chest in a not at all unpleasant sensation. "Headache, huh?"

After taking stock of his condition, Fayt rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not really. Just groggy." He got his arms up over his head and stretched, arching his back, and he still couldn't be bothered to care that Cliff had settled on top of him like he planned to make a day of it. It was keeping him warm if nothing else. Besides, it was _Cliff_. The man would flirt with a brick wall.

_Which reminds me…_

"Y'know," he said, frowning, "you got awfully grabby last night."

At least Cliff had the decency to look sheepish. "Uh…yeah, I was kinda hoping you wouldn't remember that. I don't usually get that drunk. Sorry."

"You'll have to apologize to Nel for the same reason. And Mirage."

Cliff winced. "Believe me, Mirage'll make me pay for it." All the humor drained out of his expression then. Fayt could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Cliff look so serious. "But listen, kid, I really am sorry. There's no excuse for it. I should know how to keep my hands to myself."

Fayt blinked up at Cliff and grappled for words, surprised to find the Klausian more upset about this than he was himself. That, and he never did know how to relate to Serious Cliff. It simply didn't come up that often. In a way, it threw him for a loop even more than Albel at his worst. But last night he'd been loose, not as drunk as Cliff but pleasantly buzzed. He remembered the laughter getting louder as the night went on, the view getting hazier, and he remembered hands that roamed a little too freely.

But he had to smile. Wasn't it just like Cliff to apologize for feeling him up while _lying on top of him_. "It's all right, Cliff, really."

"It's not."

"I wasn't that upset about it to begin with." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable as embarrassment stirred for the first time. This would be a good time for Cliff to make a joke or do something…_Cliff-like _that would restore their usual camaraderie. Instead, a silence stretched between them during which Fayt couldn't quite meet Cliff's eyes. Feeling awkward, he searched for something to focus on and settled his gaze upon the green lines circling the Klausian's neck. They were close enough that he could feel Cliff's breath feathering against his cheek as he searched for a graceful way to change the subject.

Then the door squeaked open the rest of the way and Albel stepped in.

_Anyone else_, Fayt thought, his face growing hot with something close to guilt as he peered around Cliff's muscular arm at Albel. _Literally anyone else would have been better. Luther himself would have been better. _And of course Cliff just _had_ to flash a smirk over one shoulder and press himself even closer against Fayt. _I swear I could just kill him._

Albel's face betrayed nothing but the usual default disdain. Somehow that made it worse. "Peppita wanted to know what was taking you two so long." One eyebrow lifted in an elegant arc as he cocked his head to the side. "I'll tell her you need another fifteen minutes." He slammed the door on his way out.

"You sure you don't wanna join us, _Alby_?" Cliff shouted.

Fayt barely heard the exchange. He was too busy replaying the exchange in the cemetery. He'd broken the rules, stepped over the line. Interacting with Albel was a constant chess match, one he thought he'd been _winning_ recently, but last night he'd overturned the chessboard and scattered the pieces everywhere. And now he had to clean it all up.

He pressed both hands over his face and groaned. "This is not good."

"I'll say. Albel thinks I can't last more than fifteen minutes."

Fayt took his hands away from his face so he could roll his eyes. "That's not really what I was talking about."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You really should get up now, though. Peppita sent me up here to get you in the first place. You promised her we'd all go out shopping today, and if you make her wait much longer she's liable to bust up in here and start jumping on the bed. How are you feeling, now?"

After a thorough assessment of his physical state, Fayt said, "I have to pee _really_ bad."

"In that case, I think I'll get off now, thanks." After he got up, Cliff threw the drapes and Fayt winced at the harsh light that flooded the room. "We'll be waiting downstairs. Try to have some coffee or something."

The first thing Fayt did after Cliff closed the door behind him was stagger over to the curtains with one hand shielding his face and close out that awful sunlight. All of his clothes were still stuffed in his travel pack, so after he splashed some cold water on his face at the washbasin in the corner, he rummaged around for something warm to wear. On top of his other clothes was a folded white T-shirt too clean to be anything of his.

Curious, he lifted it up and unfolded it then busted out laughing. **I love the UP3** was written in red letters across the chest.

_Cliff. This's definitely from Cliff._ So the Airyglyph solstice gift giving had officially begun. He had some catching up to do.

Before anymore unexpected visitors could drop by, he got himself ready and made a quick trip to the privy. He'd really have to introduce the Glyphians to advanced plumbing technology and the UP3 be damned. He even had time to duck into the kitchen and gulp down a mug of tea before joining the others at the entrance to the castle.

The first thing he noticed as he made his way down the stairs was Woltar standing just inside the door and engaging Albel in quiet conversation. Albel was scowling at whatever Woltar was saying, but as Fayt approached the group the two of them separated and Woltar took his leave of them after a polite nod to Fayt.

On their way down the snowy street to the market, Fayt drew up beside Albel. Time to repair the damage from last night. "When did Woltar get here?"

"This morning, while you were sleeping."

"And how did _you_ sleep?" Not well, from the look of him. Not at all was more likely. His eyes lacked their usual sharpness and they had dark circles beneath them. He moved like his limbs were heavy.

"That's no business of yours," Albel said, but even that lacked any real bite.

Ahead of them the others marched along their merry way, talking back and forth, and Fayt lowered his voice. "I'm sorry about last night." He looked straight ahead. If he turned and saw those red eyes piercing through him or else looking away and ignoring him completely he might lose his nerve. "I was just…out of it. I didn't know what I was saying. And I know you didn't mean what you said either."

"Oh, you know that do you?"

Fayt stopped. Albel continued on a couple of steps before he stopped as well and looked Fayt in the eyes. The uncomfortable silence grew until Albel broke it. "I meant what I said."

After that they didn't walk together, didn't even look at each other. Albel walked on one side of the street, Peppita chattering happily at him, and Fayt walked on the other. He wasn't sulking—he was too old for that—but he was close to it. _Albel the Wicked?_ he thought. _Albel the Stubborn. Albel the stupidhead who won't accept help when it's offered._ _Albel the Jerk. _

Okay, maybe he was sulking a little bit.

They all came to a stop before the outfitter's shop, the Glyphian citizens parting around them in the street, going about the day's errands. With a magician-like flourish, Peppita whipped out a black marker. "I already know what I'm giving all of you! Autographs! Things are going so well with troupe, now, these'll be priceless! You first, Fayt!" She whirled him around so she could sign his shirt at the small of his back, just as she had when they first met, and he laughed out loud. Either she didn't understand or didn't care for the idea of subtle gifts. Probably a little of both.

No one said a thing, not so much as a peep of dissent. Why fight a battle you were sure to lose? They were getting autographs and that was that. Cliff got his bicep signed, then Maria her holster. Sophia had Peppita sign the staff of the Sacred Ether, for luck in battle she said. Mirage and Nel both got autographs on their clothing. Then it was Albel's turn.

"You are _not_ writing on my clothes," he said, crossing his arms as if he thought that was the final word on the subject.

"Okay!" Without even a pause, Peppita bent and started scribbling on his bare stomach.

Pin-drop silence. Fayt would've sworn he could actually _hear_ the circuitry in Albel's head frying. Absurdly, he wished he had a camera with him, for the look on Albel's face was one he'd never seen before and would never see again. Before that moment he would have said no one in creation could put such an expression of shocked paralysis on Albel Nox's face. And in the end, what did it take to render the swordsman motionless and speechless? A fifteen year old girl with a common black marker.

Cliff busted out laughing as Peppita straightened and popped the cap back on the marker. That was the cue for everyone to avert their eyes and search for something else to be interested in. Sophia tugged at Maria's sleeve and they shuffled away stifling smiles. Mirage and Nel retreated too, continuing down the market street together.

When Cliff had himself under control, he sidled up to Fayt but his eyes were all for Nel and Mirage. The two walked on talking quietly to one another. "Now _that_ is a beautiful sight," Cliff said. "I think I'll just join them." He gave Fayt a clap on the shoulder before going after them and calling over his shoulder, "Good luck cleaning up _this_ mess."

Albel still hadn't moved. His eyes were awfully big and Fayt just hoped Albel wouldn't have a stroke from the effort of not killing something.

"Uh…Albel?" Best not to get too close, not if he wanted to keep his head.

"She…she…!" He was _livid_, red in the face, and he threw his hands up as he glared at his own stomach.

Fayt sighed. "I know. Just…try to have a sense of humor about it, okay?"

"But…_look_ at what the little twit did to me!"

That's what Fayt had been trying _not_ to do because he knew he'd laugh, but he forgot himself and his eyes strayed down to Peppita's messy signature and a smiley face with Albel's belly button as the nose. Laughter welled up—how could it not?—and Fayt tried to suppress it and ended up making a lovely choking cough sound.

Albel's eyes—his _tired_ eyes; even now they looked so tired—narrowed at once. "Are you _laughing_? Laugh again and I'll kill you. Now I'll have to wear something that covers my stomach!"

Here was a good opening to ask about something Fayt had always been curious about. "Why _do_ you dress that way?"

"_What_ way?" Albel said. The tone of his voice just begged for an excuse to get violent. "In what way do I dress?"

"Uh…well…" Maybe this wasn't such a safe subject. Did Albel really not notice his own odd style? _You dress like a rentboy on working night_, was what came to Fayt's mind, an observation worthy of Cliff Fittir if ever there was one, but what he said was, "Y'know what? Never mind. I've no idea what I was talking about."

He got a derisive snort in response as Albel stalked away back toward the castle, presumably to put on something more concealing.

Fayt sighed and looked around. Peppita was still there and when he began to wander along the snowy streets of the markets she fell in beside him.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked. The hangover headache that eluded him earlier was starting to pound at his temples now. He needed a vacation from his friends. Already.

"It's good for him! He's been too broody lately." She cast her eyes about the open stalls and the windows of the shops, bright and happy, and he wished he could leech some of that good cheer from her "You have to admit one thing. For a few minutes there, it made him forget about whatever's bothering him."

With Peppita's help he picked out gifts for each of his friends. For Sophia a simple hair ribbon and for Nel a whetstone upon which she could sharpen her daggers. He despaired of finding anything for Mirage until Peppita pointed out a tiny figure of Dirna carved of wood. Maria's was difficult too, but he settled on little bag of hard candy that he new she liked. He'd already decided that for Cliff he'd take a cue from an old Earth Christmas fancy and give him a couple lumps of coal. Two could play the humorous gift game, and Cliff was on the bad list so far anyway.

Peppita elicited a promise from him that very first thing he'd do when rejoined the civilized part of the galaxy was watch her troupe perform and claimed that as her gift. Which left Albel.

He'd seen nothing so far that caught his eye and he had nothing in mind either. It was with the hope that the right gift would cross his path that he wandered from shop to shop. Peppita waved any number of random and bizarre gift choices before him, but _this_ gift had to be right and it had to be something _he_ found.

As it turned out he didn't find it in a shop at all, but laying atop a silversmith's cart in the street outside the inn. The vendor had put a plank over the top of his cart to act as a countertop upon which to display his pieces, and Fayt's eyes went immediately to a simple silver chain with a small medallion on the end of it. When he looked closer, he saw the medallion was actually a stylized canine head. Elegant and fierce-looking, it reminded him of a wolf.

Peppita had wandered off, but as Fayt paid for this final purchase Cliff, Nel, and Mirage rounded a corner down the street. The girls were carrying nothing but had laden Cliff down like a pack mule. Fayt met them halfway.

"I see you found a few things," Mirage said. "Cliff will carry them for you."

The Klausian in question affected a long-suffering look. "Am I nothing but a pair of finely sculpted arms useful for carrying heavy objects to you two?"

"Serves you right," Nel said, and she gave him a little pat on the rear that was so condescending and such perfect justice that Fayt had to laugh, especially with the expression of surprise on Cliff's face.

"We're heading back to the castle, now," Mirage said. As they walked away, she added, "Don't take too long Cliff. You and I are going to have a little sparring session when you get back."

Cliff waited until they were out of sight, then stacked the parcels and bags on the ground and stretched. "Have you seen Albel since the autograph incident?" When Fayt shook his head, Cliff went on. "Well I have. He asked me something about night mares. I thought you might know what's up."

"He asked me something like that last night. He must really want an answer if he asked you."

"Well, he's worked it into a conversation with just about everybody today. I don't think anyone had a real answer for him."

Fayt rubbed his hands together. He'd forgotten gloves and he was feeling the cold now. He looked up and down the street, but didn't see Albel anywhere. "I don't think he's slept the last two nights but he won't _tell_ me anything." Night mares. Nightmares. Albel's bad dreams sometimes woke him up—though he deny that with his dying breath—but they never stopped him from sleeping What made this different, then? "I give him every opportunity, but it's like nothing's changed since the day we met. And the last couple days he seems…"

"Batshit?"

"I would've said troubled." He scowled down at his hands, trying to rub sensation back into his numb fingers and thinking how much easier it would be if he didn't have to tread so lightly around Albel's psyche.

"You should've worn gloves," Cliff said. He caught Fayt's hands in his own and breathed warmth upon them. He kept hold of them, massaging feeling back into the cold skin. "Don't give up on Albel just yet. Keep at him. I admit, I don't see what you get from him but aggravation, but you're the one who's always told me there's more to it than that. Just give him time."

Fayt nodded slowly and thought about that—about the necessity of patience when dealing with Albel—and let Cliff warm his hands. There came footsteps crunching in the snow from behind him, and he didn't even need to turn around to see who it was. The way his luck was pulling today, it could only be one person.

"If you can peel yourselves off one another," Albel said, "the king has invited you all to sup with him at the evening meal."

"You're not coming too?" Fayt said. Cliff had let go his hands and was busy gathering up his various bags, boxes, and packages.

"I have better things to do," Albel said. He'd put on a long, heavy cloak, but as he shifted to rest his metal hand upon the hilt of his sword, Fayt saw that it was not the Crimson Scourge on Albel's hip. Odd. Before he could do more than note the sword's absence, Albel swept away down the street, not toward the castle but toward the mountains.

"Wait, where are you going?" Fayt started after him, but when Albel didn't answer or cast a look back, Fayt slowed then stopped. He watched Albel walk away down the main street of Airyglyph and out onto the bridge that would take him into the Traum Mountains. A sense of foreboding compelled him to follow, but what would that get him? Nothing but a death glare and some barbed words.

_(I'm not your friend.)_

"You coming or going?" Cliff said.

Sometimes intuition wasn't strong enough. Sometimes the rationale had to be there too. "Coming," he said. "It wouldn't do any good to bother him now."

"Let me carry your bag."

All the little gifts Fayt had bought barely filled up one little bag, but still he raised both eyebrows interrogatively. "Your hands are full."

Cliff opened his mouth and Fayt slipped the handle of the bag between his teeth, smiling but not feeling any real humor. His thoughts were with Albel, out there alone in the mountains.

* * *

Five hours later, Fayt's thoughts were still with Albel. He sat with his elbows on the windowsill and his head propped in his hands, watching the streets below. It had been dark for awhile and Albel had not yet returned. It didn't take any arguing with himself to reach a decision this time. 

He spared only enough time to grab a coat—and gloves this time— before heading down to the castle entrance. Cliff was just coming in, massaging the small of his back and looking like he'd been through the fight with Luther all over again.

"Sparring?" Fayt asked, allowing himself a grin.

"I'm officially done apologizing. Where's the skirt?"

"He never got back. I'm going out to look for him." But as Fayt passed by, Cliff grabbed his arm.

"You know there's nothing out there that can take him. He's fine."

"I know that, but I just have a bad feeling." Fayt tried to tug away and was again pulled back.

"You stay. I'll go find him," Cliff said.

If Fayt made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, it was in the belief that Cliff was surely joking. An instant later, he realized it was no joke. "What? Why?"

"I've been wanting to have a word alone with him. This is a good chance. And I'll make sure he's okay."

Snow was just beginning to drift down in the darkness beyond the open door. Cliff and Albel alone together. Albel in the grip of exhaustion. And who knew _what _was on Cliff's mind. Oh yes, that was an equation for pleasantness. "I don't know."

"C'mon. I promise I won't call him Alby." And so it was decided for him. Cliff left him with quick wink and a smile. It was all meant to be reassuring, but as Fayt stood in the open door and watched Cliff disappear, he felt an indescribable melancholy. Then he realized what it was, and why they had all had such trouble reconnecting. Whatever it was that had kept them together, made them a team, made them all _one, _it just wasn't as strong anymore He'd expected it to be like it was a year ago, but they couldn't go back to that. There was no going back.

_We can only go forward,_ he thought. _Try not to kill each other_. _Get out whatever you need to say but try not to kill each other._

_

* * *

_

**AN:** Whoo, it's been a long time, huh? Sorry about that. Real life got in the way. You know how it is.

So I guess you can tell I also like CliffxFayt, huh? I like to amuse myself by imagining what might have happened if Albel hadn't walked in. This chapter went through three drafts. Originally, the graveyard scene took place inside and was much more lighthearted, but that wasn't working so it got revised into what you see here. The shopping thing provided one last opportunity to inject a little humor into the story before things get _really _bad.

Fayt's T-shirt is supposed to be with a lesser than sign and a 3, y'know like to form a heart? So it would have been "I (heart) the UP3" but ff.n's weird formatting doesn't like the lesser than sign and wouldn't show it, so it had to be "love". There was no real reason for me to tell you this, except that it irritated me and I wanted to point out how it was _supposed_ to be.

Next chapter: do I even need to say it? Violence, yo.


	4. Chapter 4: Anon the Dreadful Thunder

**Chapter Four: Anon The Dreadful Thunder**

_Forty-eight hours._

The full moon rode high and reflected silver radiance off the snow. If flashed off the katana's blade as Albel practiced his forms.

_Forty-eight bloody hours._

A body could only go so long without sleep before it started wearing down. He was slow, off balance, out of focus. These sword forms should have come to him as naturally as breathing and he executed them like an clumsy amateur, without any precision or grace whatever.

The heavy cloak lay discarded and he'd broken out in a fine sheen of sweat. The cold stung and he was grateful for it. It would help him stay awake, and stay awake he must. What waited for him in the depths of sleep was a fight he couldn't win and an enemy that knew him better than he knew himself.

He stumbled through the sword positions, centering his mind, his body, letting his thoughts roam where they would. Perhaps they would chance upon an answer. He entertained a fleeting wish for strength of a different sort. If he had the Aquarian wench's skill in subtle strategies or Traydor's ability to approach any problem with mathematical dispassion he might find a solution. Even the Fittir's talent for improvisation and reckless luck would've helped.

But no, Albel's answer to every problem was to put a sword through it, and that was the one answer that would do him no good.

He stopped in mid-motion and let the sword point drop as he caught his breath.

_And yet…take away the sword and what am I?_ He thought, rolling his head back and allowing his aching eyes to close. _Take away my skill with a blade and what do I have lef? Nothing._

"Sleeping on your feet?"

Albel snapped his attention to the path and there stood Fittir with his arms crossed and wearing an infuriating half-smile that bordered on a smirk. "What the hell are you doing here?"

_And how could I let anyone_ _get so close without noticing?_ In this deep silence and given the way the cliffs echoed every sound, he should have heard the lummox coming a quarter of a mile away. _I need to sleep. I'm so, so tired._

Fittir shrugged one shoulder. "I thought we could have a chat."

Their eyes didn't meet so much as clash, but of course the Klausian had the upper hand in a glaring match. Albel's eyes were dry and exhausted and he couldn't stop blinking them. "I have nothing to say to you, fool."

"Sure you do." There was a mischievous gleam in Fittir's eyes that Albel didn't like at all, and he sheathed his sword just to get the enticing grip of it out of his hand. The last thing he needed was to forget himself and kill this idiot. Fayt would shit a brick, and he didn't feel like dealing with that.

It took all the will in Albel's overtaxed body to turn and walk away.

"He only stayed with you out of pity, you know."

Albel stopped. The last frayed thread of his self control drew taut. "Watch yourself," he said, staring straight ahead at the craggy landscape.

"It's true, though. It wasn't out of respect or affection. He just feels sorry for you."

Albel shot a warning glance over his shoulder, which was more than this maggot deserved and more than Albel usually gave anyone. "You don't want to pull this with me. Not now." There was a limit to his patience—to the Klausian's too, he knew—and the two of them had made almost a game of testing the point of no return, the point where anger spills over into violence. Albel was so close to that point his head was buzzing.

"You're his project," the Klausian said, digging his own grave with every word. "You're like some poor, abused animal he's trying to nurse back to emotional health."

Flexing his claw, craving something his sword could bite into, Albel stalked back toward Fittir. _Keep talking, maggot. Give me an excuse. I don't care anymore._

"He's a good kid. Got a good heart. I can't imagine what he saw in _you_. You're not even worthy of his friendship. But it's all over now. He'll come with us when we leave, I'm sure."

Albel stopped a sword's length away and drew. He took an assault stance that would let him bring the katana up in a sweep, cutting Fittir open from left hip to right shoulder. The man hadn't so much as moved from that spot. He still stood with his arms crossed, no defense ready at all, and Albel—stripped of all rationale and left with only his predatory nature—hungered to take advantage.

_Go on. Send me over the edge._

"He'll probably forget about you as soon as we put this planet behind us. I suppose he'll head back to Earth, maybe marry Sophia." There was a pause, and then, "But not before get a good fuck or two out of him."

Albel's hand moved on its own. It brought the sword up just as he'd planned and he reveled in its deadly stroke, for he was beyond thought and in a place of instinct and reaction where nothing mattered but quenching his bloodthirst.

Fittir didn't even flinch. The sword passed through him as through a ghost.

Or an illusion.

He quirked his head to the side as Albel stared up at him wide-eyed, and the smile on his face turned sinister. "You didn't think you were safe from us just because you're awake, did you?"

The reality slammed Albel back into his senses and he sprang away, centering himself again, focusing. He held his katana with the understanding that he might as well be wielding a stick for all the good it would do him. But the sword was the only answer he had to give, and the thought of throwing it to the ground and accepting whatever this thing did to him was not an option in his mind.

He also understood he'd be fighting for his life with a smiley face drawn on his stomach and the absurdity of it made him grin humorlessly.

The illusion that looked like Cliff Fittir cracked his knuckles and advanced on him. "I'm gonna lay some epiphany on you, Alby. Hard."

It lunged for him, and Albel avoided the blow. What followed was a dance of feints and sidesteps, a display of such utter cowardice that he hated himself for it. He dodged every punch and kick, backflipping, keeping light on his feet and in constant motion, and he didn't once attack but neither did he run. The illusion rent the air with Acrobat Locus, and Albel threw himself to the side, actually marveling he'd managed to avoid injury for so long before realizing he was being toyed with.

As soon as that knowledge hit him, so did Fittir.

One instant the illusion was well out of strike range, the next its grinning face was right in front of him. A fist slammed into his stomach and he bent double. When the uppercut struck his face he went flying and landed hard on his back.

Rolling over onto his stomach, he spat blood and tried to rise up on his forearms, but a shadow fell over him and a boot planted between his shoulder blades pressed him back down.

Fittir chuckled. "Humiliation looks _so_ good on you, Alby." The foot pinning Albel down was replaced by Fittir's full weight on top of him. A strong hand clamped around the base of his neck. "But let's talk more about Fayt."

_This isn't real. He's not real._

Was that the trick? Was that the way to kill a night mare, by denying its reality? An insubstantial enemy required an insubstantial offense after all.

_He's not real_, Albel told himself again, clenching his eyes shut and willing to be so. _Not real. _But it felt real when the illusion grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. The heavy weight atop him felt real and when it leaned forward to speak into his ear, it's warm breath upon his face felt real also.

"No, I'm not real, but that doesn't make what I'm saying any less true. You think Cliff doesn't have a hard on for the kid? You think he wouldn't take the first opportunity to bend that boy over a bed and fuck him raw? You think Fayt hasn't realized you have nothing to offer but hurt? Dream on, fool. Dream on. You weren't worthy of the dragons, you weren't worthy of your father's legacy, and you're not worthy of that circle of friendship they've all forged. You'll never be anything but a sword arm to anyone. If you didn't know how to use that blade, even the king would have no use for you."

_He's not real. He's not bloody real._ Albel gave a reflexive, cursory struggle and got nowhere.

"Keep telling yourself that. It won't do any good. That's not the way to kill us." Its weight shifted again as it sat up and ran its free hand lightly down his back. "And now I have a decision to make. I have to decide exactly what I want to do to you." Another chuckle. "But I know what a masochist you are at heart. You could use a good hard fuck, but I think you'd enjoy it too much. Isn't that why you put yourself in Vox's hands again and again?"

Albel said nothing, tried to make his mind go blank.

"Anyway, I have a better idea," the illusion said, taking Albel's flesh arm in its grasp, one hand clenching around his wrist and the other around his upper arm.

And slowly, it began to twist.

Albel's eyes flew open in realization. _I won't scream. No matter what I won't scream_, he thought, and clamped his teeth together to make sure of it. It twisted his upper and lower arm in opposite directions, and his elbow ached as it reached its limit of turning. The mutilation was performed so gradually he felt every nerve scream as cartilage stretched…strained…held for one more agonizing moment and finally ripped with a wet, fleshy cracking sound. Tendons snapped and skin tore. Blood poured down his arm. He thrashed and bit his tongue and blood flooded his mouth. An awful noise reached him through the pain and he realized it was the sound of his own screams.

Laughing, the illusion finished its work and gave Albel's forearm a final good jerk to snap the last bit of cartilage connecting the bones. Albel howled into the snow and didn't notice or care if the thing left or stayed. There was nothing but the pain, nothing but the severed nerve endings and bloody sinew left hanging from his elbow.

It was hate that burned through that pain and forced his eyes open, forced him to spit bloody snow from his mouth and haul his shaking body up onto its knees. If he clenched his teeth in a snarl it was as much in blind fury as in agony.

_Not…real…_

It couldn't be. Not his arm. Not his one good bloody fucking arm. Blazing eyes looked down at the bleeding stump and he despaired.

_No! It's there! It has to be!_

Desperate, he clawed at the empty space where his right forearm should have been, raked his claws through the air trying to feel his flesh there. Fuck it all, it had to be there! He clawed and clawed at it and felt nothing, nothing but the brilliant pain of it and the sense that his mind was about to fracture, to sever itself from sanity in a horrendous tearing just as his lower arm had torn away from his elbow.

"Albel?"

A far away voice, bouncing multiple echoes off the rock faces. Albel looked up sharply at the sound of it and when he looked back down his arm was there. He'd clawed it to shreds in his distress, left long bone-deep gashes down it, but it was _there_ and he let out a sound that was half groan, half mad laughter.

"Albel?"

It was _his_ voice, Fittir's, and Albel struggled to his feet. _Not again_, he thought, snatching his cloak up from the snowy ground and flinging it over his shoulders. _Not now. Not again. _Shock-numb and dazed, he knew only that he moved forward. Direction, purpose, reality, they all faded in and out of clarity for what could have been hours or merely minutes. Onward and onward with thought only for reprieve. To be free of them for one night, to merely sleep for a few hours, that's all he wanted. Too much to ask for. No rest for the wicked. That was a saying he'd heard from them, from those star-vaulting fools, and he'd always liked it. It flickered through his mind now like a firefly on a dark night.

Through the cold moonlight he trudged until eventually the sense that he wasn't alone worked its way to the forefront of his mind and he stopped. When he blinked a few times, his swimming head cleared a little.

"Albel…careful."

Fittir, behind him. But not close. He looked over his shoulder and saw the older man a few yards away. _This one's not real either. Just another torment._

The light of the full moon showed clearly the alarm on the Klausian's face. He reached out a hand and motioned Albel back. "Get _away_ from there. _Now_. Albel, the ice is cracking!"

_Ice? _A quick glance at his surroundings and he understood where he was standing. He looked down and saw delicate white cracks spidering out from his feet, making a soft _chinking_ sound as they grew outward. He had just enough time for one thought—_oh shit_—before the ice creaked beneath him one last time and gave, plunging him into water so cold it drove the breath from him. His head went under immediately; he didn't know how to swim. The water closing over him woke an animalistic, instinctive fear of drowning and he panicked, thrashing wildly, clawing for air. His chest, his head, his whole body cried for breath. Water flooded his mouth and lungs and he felt himself dying as the cold took him down, took his life, took him into darkness…

The rest came in flashes of sensation. Strong arms around his waist. Looking through wet lashes at the star-dusted sky above. A voice telling him to hold on. And he did. He clung with both hands and then he was on his stomach half in and half out of the frozen pond, choking up water until his throat burned. When at last he could breath without coughing, Fittir helped him up and slung one of Albel's arms across his shoulders, and though his first instinct was to jerk away it hurt his pride less to let the man help him than have to crawl on his hands and knees through the snow.

The shivering started, violent tremors that wracked both their bodies. Away from the treacherous ice now, Fittir raised a shaky hand. Symbology glowed brief and bright around his arm and twin Fire Bolts streaked out to ignite a cluster of dead shrubbery and turn the silver nighttime a brilliant, flickering orange. He drew Albel closer and eased him down before sinking to the snow himself.

Wide awake now, Albel caught his breath and stared into the fire. He knew as much about winter survival as any Glyphian; he really ought to strip his wet clothes off to be safe but he wasn't about to be naked in addition to all else. Bad enough the maggot had saved his life and helped him away from the water like he was some invalid.

Bad enough this may all be just another hallucination.

When he could manage it, he stood and ripped the sodden cloak off, moving as close to the fire as possible without singing his hair. The heat was glorious, purging, and he stood like that until the front him dried. Maybe when he turned, the Klausian would be gone, but no. The blonde ape was still there, looking up at him with _concern_.

He'd rather die than endure that look. He'd rather _kill_.

"Stop staring at me before I put your eyes out, worm."

Fittir didn't flinch, but then Albel hadn't expected him to. "Fayt was right. There _is_ something wrong with you. Why were you so out of it? You know better than to walk out on ice like that."

The heat at Albel's back burned past the point of pain and he welcomed it. "You're imagining things."

"Am I imagining you clawed your own arm up? Those are no dire wolf's marks, you did that to yourself. Just what the hell is going on with you?" Burning embers floated up in the smoke and fluttered down all around them, dying before they hit the snow.

After watching the gleam of the firelight in Fittir's eyes for some time, Albel answered with a question of his own. "Just what are you doing out here?"

_Another illusion?_ How would he even tell if it were? Asleep or awake, the mares commanded his perception. Dreaming, reality…all was the same to him now, and he'd never felt such a wave of helplessness as he did just then. If the Cliff Fittir before him decided he was in need of another epiphany, he'd have to resign himself to it. There was no fight left in him.

But the Klausian only climbed to his feet and dusted snow from the back of his pants. "I needed to tell you something. About Fayt…and about you. We'll be leaving again the day after the solstice. I'm going to offer Fayt a ride."

_I'll just bet you are._ "Good. Take him with you. I'm sick of the sight of him."

Fittir scowled at him in the glow of the fire. "And I came out here to offer you the same thing, but if you're gonna be a bitch about it, I won't even bother."

Albel was nearly dry, so he snatched up his cloak and held it out to the fire so it could dry as well. He needed to get the thing back on and cover up his stomach. Incredible that Fittir wasn't rubbing salt in the wound by laughing at him again. "Why would I subject myself to you fools any more than I already have? You're all insufferable."

"Well, excuse me for thinking you might want to get off this rock. I failed to notice just how deliriously _happy_ you are here."

"Hmph." He'd had enough of this, illusion or not, and he pulled the cloak around him and tried to walk away, but Fittir grabbed his metal arm and he tensed immediately.

"Albel," Fittir said. "Let me heal you."

"Don't even _try_ it, maggot."

The Klausian sighed, releasing him. "Fine. But the invitation's open if you want to come with us." He started to turn away then looked back. "And let Fayt help you, Albel. Give him _something_. He's worrying himself sick over you."

Albel turned his hood up. "I don't need anything from him."

* * *

_"Well? Was he okay?"_

_"__He was fine."_

_"__That's it? Where is he?"_

_"He said he'd be back later. But Fayt…you were right. Something's wrong. I think you should talk to him again."_

"Easier said than done," Fayt said aloud. That conversation with Cliff hadn't been especially encouraging, and when Albel had returned with the dawn, he'd dismissed any attempt at interaction and disappeared into his room. No amount of knocking or pleading got a response from him.

So Fayt spent most of the day pacing, moving restlessly from one incomplete task to another, deep in thought for the most part. When he got bored of his room, he wandered down to the air dragon cave, which was where he found himself now, replaying the events of the past three days in his head. Many of the Dragon Brigade soldiers remembered him and let him stay and watch while they groomed the dragons. It took his mind off things for awhile at least, but soon he found himself remembering something else Cliff had said.

_I don't see what you get from him but aggravation._

"Nothing," Fayt muttered, watching the soldiers repair the dragons' tack and treat their injuries. "Nothing at all."

One more time. He'd try to get through to Albel just one more time. And if that didn't work he'd try again, and again, and again. Because whatever Albel said, they were still friends, and real friendship didn't give up so easily. No, real friendship meant you fought for your friends even if they didn't want you to, no matter how hard it was. They didn't go through the struggle of defeating Luther together to let something like this rend them apart.

Evening set in, and he left the dragons' cave with new resolve and determined hope, but he caught a change in the tenor of the castle that set him immediately on edge. The lower corridors were nearly deserted, and the two servants he did see were both rushing somewhere with alarm on their faces. They didn't even slow down when he tried to question them. Maria came bounding down the stairs and rushed to him.

"I've been looking for you," she said, and her usual calculating expression had a grim cast to it. "You need to come with me."

"What's wrong?" A dread had set into him, deep and foreboding. He knew what she was going to say. He just knew.

"Something's happened to Albel."

* * *

**A/N:** Raise your hand if you thought the fake Cliff was real. :) Hehe. Upped the rating to M for fake!Cliff's little speech about Fayt and for violence. This chapter is one of my favorites. One of the themes in this story is the tension between Cliff and Albel, and that'll really come to a breaking point later on. One draft and two minor revisions for this chapter. Took out a large chunk of it that wasn't doing any good plot or character-wise. It made it shorter, but also made it more relevant. 

This is the chapter where I started developing an outline for the story. I never start with an outline. I begin writing without planning anything beforehand. Outlines and timelines are tools I use after the rough is done, mostly to catch plot holes and keep track of the passage of time.


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